Andhaka

King Siddhasena closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, filling his aged lungs with the cool, early-morning air infused with the sweet fragrance of jasmine and frangipani.

He was seated on a stone bench in the middle of a large, leafy garden, with none for company other than his loyal bodyguard Sajaya, who stood a few paces to his left. Further to the left, some way behind the guard, was an ornate gazebo with five iron swings arranged around a central fountain. The pathway at Siddhasena’s feet led out from the gazebo and meandered across the garden toward the royal palace of Magadha, which was partially visible from between the flowering shrubs and trees.

For a while, the king sat quietly, soaking in the peace and silence. Then, opening his eyes, he reached for his wooden stick, while raising his left hand toward his bodyguard, signaling a desire to be helped to his feet.

The guard took a step forward, but was interrupted by an authoritative voice that cut through the morning calm.

“Let it be, soldier. I shall assist the king.”

Even as Siddhasena raised his head to look down the path, his face clouded at the familiarity of the voice, his old eyes registering weariness. And on catching sight of Shoorasena’s approach, the king’s mouth turned down at the corners, as if full of some bitter aftertaste. Still, he looked back at his bodyguard and nodded.

“Come,” said Shoorasena, offering his father a hand.

Once the king had gained his feet, Shoorasena took a firm grip of the old man’s hand. Putting his other arm protectively around his father’s shoulders, the prince began leading the way down the path, with the guard following them at a respectful distance.

Having walked some distance, Shoorasena looked down at the stooping figure by his side. “Father, I hear that last night you signed an order to dispatch three thousand Magadhan soldiers and three thousand of our archers to Matsya. Is that true?”

Siddhasena sighed inwardly. The question hadn’t come as a surprise to him; he had foreseen its inevitability the instant he had issued the command to send the reinforcements to Matsya. But the speed with which the news had travelled to his son’s ears was astonishing.

“Yes,” he replied at last.

“Why?” the prince asked urgently, keeping his voice down. “We had discussed the matter, and I thought we had decided not to send any troops from Magadha.”

“No son, you’ve got it wrong,” Siddhasena corrected. “The fact is that we had only discussed the matter – we had not made any decision on whether to send our troops or not.

” Shoorasena didn’t respond immediately, but the old king could sense his son’s jaw go rigid in anger.

“So now you’ve decided to issue the order without taking anyone in the royal council into confidence,” the prince muttered.

The king knew exactly what his son meant by ‘anyone in the royal council’. For Shoorasena, the only person who mattered in the royal council was himself.

“As king of Magadha, I had to do it,” answered Siddhasena. “The Sakas are scouting Matsya and King Baanahasta is in trouble.”

“Baanahasta has enough help coming his way from the kingdoms of Vatsa and Kosala,” Shoorasena shot back.

“If the Hunas and Sakas begin attacking Sindhuvarta, no amount of help would be enough, son,” the old king shook his head. “Besides, King Baanahasta has been an old ally, and Magadha cannot desert him in the time of need.”

Shoorasena maintained a frosty silence as he helped his father up a path that gave onto a wide terrace at the northern extremity of the palace garden.

“And most importantly, I have given Samrat Vikramaditya my word that we would send troops to defend Sindhuvarta,” the king added. “It is my duty to honor that promise.”

Walking on to the terrace, the prince guided his father to its edge, which was protected by a high stone parapet. The land fell away from the terrace, rolling down small hills to meet the plain below, where lay Girivraja, the capital of Magadha. The two men gazed down at the panoramic view of the city for a while before Shoorasena broke the silence.

“Father, your latest decision is a setback to our campaign plans against Vanga. Even before we went to Ujjayini and heard of the threat from the Hunas and Sakas, you had assured the royal council of Magadha that you would support that campaign. It seems as if that promise means nothing to you any longer.”

“I don’t understand your obsession with waging war against Vanga,” Siddhasena began shrilly, but he dropped his voice to a murmur when he felt his son’s hand tighten on his shoulder. “The republic has never meant us any harm,” the old king winced at the pressure being exerted on his feeble body.

“They are backing the Kikata rebellion, father. They need to be taught a lesson.”

“Spare me that lie, please,” Siddhasena shrugged and wriggled to ease himself out of his son’s crushing grasp. “I know there isn’t even a remote threat of an organized rebellion from the Kikatas. Yes, as among most tribes we have subjugated, a few Kikatas may bear a grudge against us. But the great majority is perfectly happy under Magadhan rule. They are also quite loyal to Magadha. Look at Sajaya...”

The king inclined his head toward the bodyguard, who now stood quietly at the far end of the terrace. “He has been with me for more than two decades. His conduct is above reproach, his loyalty to Magadha above question.”

Shoorasena again lapsed into silence, observing Girivraja down below, which was beginning to come alive with activity, its thoroughfares filling with carts and caravans making for the bazaars. Glancing up at the sky, the prince then turned to casually survey the terrace and the gardens beyond.

“As you wish, father,” he said at last with a shrug. “The sun is gaining in height as well as in heat. Let us return to the palace.”

Taking his hand, the prince began escorting Siddhasena toward a broad flight of stairs that led down from the terrace to the lower levels of the palace.

“When do the troops depart for Matsya?” Shoorasena asked as they reached the top of the high stairway.

“By nightfall,” the king replied as he gripped the prince’s hand and began a stiff, labored descent. “These steps are too steep. We should have taken the other route back.”

“This one gets to the palace quicker,” Shoorasena said blandly.

Siddhasena had negotiated the top five steps when the prince suddenly wrenched his hand free from the old man’s grasp. As the king looked up at his son in surprise, Shoorasena gave him a violent shove.

The king rocked and swayed, his hands flailing as he fought to retrieve his balance. Then, just when it looked as if Siddhasena had regained control, Shoorasena pushed him again, this time with even greater force.

Siddhasena stared at his son in wide-eyed horror as the realization finally sank in, and he opened his mouth as if meaning to say something. But the words died somewhere in the king’s old, sad heart, and all that emerged from his throat was a grieving, gasping moan – a last wail of defeat at having failed as a father.

Slowly, after teetering on the steps for what seemed like an eternity, Siddhasena toppled over and rolled down the stairs, his frail body flopping and bouncing, bones snapping and cracking each time his body made an impact on the stone steps. Reaching the bottom of the stairway, the old king’s body came to a halt in a jumble of misshapen limbs, the scrawny neck twisted at an unnatural angle, blood pooling quickly under the head.

Shoorasena heard a rush of footsteps from behind. Turning around, he saw the bodyguard Sajaya appear at the top of the stairs. Swallowing nervously, the prince pointed to the body lying far below them.

“Father...” he said, his voice shaking with emotion. “He slipped and fell.”

Too shocked for words, the unsuspecting guard gaped at the king’s crumpled body. Then, moving as if he was in a trance, he descended the steps to stand beside Shoorasena. “The good king is no more,” the guard’s lips moved in a whisper.

The sight of his dead master was so riveting that the guard failed to observe the prince draw a heavy sword from his scabbard. It was only moments before Shoorasena stabbed him in the abdomen that Sajaya realized he was being attacked – but it was too late for him to defend himself. As he clutched his stomach and doubled over, he stared up at Shoorasena in surprise.

“Why... my lord,” he mumbled, his voice slurring, incoherent with pain.

In response, Shoorasena yanked the sword out of Sajaya’s stomach, tearing more flesh and tissue in the process. The guard screamed in agony as blood began oozing freely from between his fingers. He took a step back and tried to straighten, and immediately Shoorasena swung the sword.

The murderous blade arced through the air before slicing through Sajaya’s neck, severing his head. The guard’s body collapsed on the stairs in a heavy sprawl, but his head rolled all the way down till it came to rest by Siddhasena’s feet, the unseeing eyes looking up at the dead king in bewilderment.

Sajaya’s scream had drawn attention, and within moments, guards and palace hands came rushing to the stairs. Those at the bottom flocked to the body of Siddhasena and the guard’s head, while those who came from the direction of the garden formed a semicircle at the top of the stairs. A deathly hush fell over everyone as they stared from the dead king to Sajaya’s headless body to Shoorasena standing on the steps, holding the bloodied sword.

“The Kikata bodyguard pushed my father down the stairs,” the prince thundered, pointing to Sajaya’s body. “I saw him do it and I killed him.”

As a horrified murmur rose from all around the stairway, Shoorasena raised his sword heavenward. “The Kikatas have taken the kind and beloved king of Magadha from us,” he screamed vengefully. “I swear I will make them and their allies pay with blood.”

In a matter of seconds, a chant arose from the assembled guards and palace hands, a chant filled with rage and sorrow, growing rapidly in size and volume.

“Death to the Kikatas,” they roared in a rising frenzy of bloodlust. “Death to Vanga.”

***

The rain was coming down in sheets, pounding the earth as if venting an old pent-up rage. Yet Shanku pressed through the downpour, her horse’s hooves squelching in the soggy mud as the beast struggled to keep a solid footing. The heavy droplets stung her repeatedly in the face, blinding her; still, the girl persevered, bending low over the neck of her mount and drawing the hood of her cloak over her head for meager protection.

Her grandmother had spoken, and from what she had heard, Shanku knew she had to convey the tidings to her king without delay.

The girl did not slow her pace even after entering Ujjayini, and the subjects of Avanti watched in wonder as the horse thundered through the drenched streets toward the palace, splashing through puddles and kicking up dirt in its wake. On reaching the palace, the horse charged across the palace causeway at full gallop, forcing the palace guards to draw the gates shut in alarm.

“It’s me,” Shanku said tersely as she reined in her horse and threw off her hood for identification. “Let me pass.”

In a matter of a few minutes, she found herself in the council chamber, where Vikramaditya, Vararuchi, Vetala Bhatta and Dhanavantri were pouring over tax records. Shanku stood inside the door, diffident and unsure whether to intrude upon the councilors as they debated levying additional taxes to raise funds for the royal treasury.

“If we are looking at a long and protracted war against the Hunas and Sakas, we have no choice but to raise taxes,” Vararuchi was saying. “Or we have to abolish some subsidies.”

“Doing away with subsidies means the poor and less privileged will have to bear the brunt,” the samrat shook his head in disagreement. “Better raise taxes from the rich, if we have to.”

“We should definitely increase duties on iron, bronze and lumber,” the Acharya pointed out. “If nothing else, that would result in a drop in demand, so our armories won’t end up facing a shortage.”

As the others nodded in agreement, Dhanavantri piped in. “We can also start raising the rates of fines and penalties. We did that during the last war. Someone is always breaking the law somewhere...”

The four men were so immersed in discussion that they wouldn’t have noticed Shanku standing in the shadows, had it not been for a sudden fit of sneezing that overcame her.

“Child, what are you doing there?” the Acharya looked at her in surprise. “Why didn’t you come inside?”

As Shanku approached the council table, the men saw that she was dripping wet.

“What happened to you?” the king inquired as he straightened.

“I was caught in the rain, samrat,” Shanku replied.

“I can see that, but what were you doing outside in this weather?”

“I had gone to visit the Mother Oracle, samrat. She has some news for you.”

“That’s fine, but why didn’t you go and dry yourself before coming here?” Vetala Bhatta spoke kindly. “You’re completely soaked and you might catch a chill.”

“I thought it was important to deliver the news first, raj-guru.”

Vikramaditya inclined his head in acceptance “What does the Mother Oracle say?” he asked.

“She says that the birds speak of a great wall of dust rising far away in the west.”

“A wall of dust...” Vararuchi looked from his brother to the Acharya. “The Mother Oracle must mean the dust that rises from the desert floor as a huge army rides eastward.”

As all five councilors exchanged ominous glances, Vikram-aditya nodded to Shanku. “We owe your grandmother a debt of gratitude. Thank you.”

The king was about to turn his attention back to the tax logs when the girl spoke again. “There is one more thing, samrat. The Mother Oracle spoke of a more immediate danger to Avanti.”

“What’s that?” All four heads turned sharply her way.

“She has warned of a sightless evil that is heading northward to bring terror upon Ujjayini.”

As the men looked at one another in alarm, Dhanavantri spoke. “Northward from where?”

“The Mother Oracle didn’t say,” Shanku replied. “She only revealed that she read the signs in the rain clouds coming from the south.”

“Did she tell you anything else about this... sightless evil?” asked Vikramaditya.

Seeing that she had the full attention of all four men, Shanku nodded. “She said that the sightless evil has been unleashed to recover something – something that was gifted to the king by an ancient god.”

***

It was the most miserable day in the life of the miserable young soldier standing guard on the northern bank of the Payoshni. That, at least, was the soldier’s own opinion, as he sheltered under the large banyan tree and cursed.

He cursed the rain hammering down from the gray sky overhead. He cursed the damp cold seeping into his stiff joints. He cursed the marauding mosquitoes hovering above his head and humming in his ears and ravaging his exposed arms, ankles, neck and face. And he cursed his decision to enlist with the army of Heheya.

But of all the things that the soldier cursed that morning, the one he cursed most was the ill-fated day he was ordered to report to the garrison of Payoshni for duty.

Slapping his right cheek in a vain attempt to kill a mosquito, the soldier peered southward through the curtain of rain. Not far ahead flowed the Payoshni, a lethargic swamp of a river, its surface green with water plants and slime – slime so thick that the heavy raindrops bounced off it, instead of penetrating it.

And across the broad river, on the other side of Heheya’s border, arose a thick, dark wall of trees, stretching away to the south, all the way to the horizon and beyond.

Dandaka, the Forest of the Exiles.

A limitless expanse of dense, steaming jungle, Dandaka was the most inhospitable region in all of Sindhuvarta, home to the most ferocious of wild beasts, the vilest of pestilence. and the lost race of danavas, demonic forest spirits who, it was believed, ruled the jungle from the fabled fortress town of Janasthana.

Dandaka was also a penitentiary for the lowest scum of human society.

For it was to this forest that the kingdoms of Sindhuvarta invariably banished their worst criminal offenders – traitors, murders, rapists and pedophiles. Because it was said that while it was possible for convicts to cheat death at the gallows, there was no escaping the horrors of Dandaka. Or the forest of no return, as some called it.

In reality, this was an exaggeration. The past had seen two instances of exiled criminals fleeing Dandaka – by banding together in groups to increase their chances of getting out alive – and trying to sneak back into civilization. Some of these fugitives had been apprehended and sent back, while others had been killed for putting up resistance. Yet, the rumor ran that a small handful had successfully eluded capture and resettled across Sindhuvarta.

It was to prevent such escapes from becoming routine that the garrison of Payoshni was established at the head of the Payoshni Pass – the only point along the river’s cliff-bound northern bank that offered a passage between the kingdom of Heheya and the Dandaka Forest. This had earned the garrison the nickname Gateway Garrison; though given the nature of the southbound traffic it encountered, it was also commonly referred to as the Arse of Sindhuvarta.

The soldier keeping watch under the banyan tree couldn’t agree more with that description of the place. Swatting a fat mosquito that had alighted on the tender spot under his elbow, he cursed again and surveyed his surroundings.

Before him stretched the marshy riverbank, on which was drawn up an old boat that was used to ferry the exiles across the river. To his right and left, the land rose sharply to form the vertiginous, sheer-faced cliffs that ran along the northern bank for miles and miles – a formidable wall capable of deterring the stoutest of outcasts looking for a way out of Dandaka. Behind him was the narrow defile of the Payoshni Pass, a natural bottleneck.

On the other side of the pass the soldier could discern the buildings of the godforsaken garrison, hidden amid a forest which had once been a part of the Dandaka, ages before the Payoshni had carved the terrain, setting it free. It now extended north a couple of miles before yielding to the flat, arable lands of Heheya.

The guard returned his gaze to the river, lazily wondering when his replacement would arrive to relieve him. The thought of returning to the relative warmth and dryness of the garrison distracted the soldier to the extent that he missed observing the figures creeping along the edge of the forest, on the other side of the Payoshni. It was by sheer luck that at the last moment a movement caught his eye, as the last of the figures slipped into the river.

Suddenly on alert, the soldier watched the gray-green waters carefully.

While it was too far to be certain – and the rain was intense enough to impair visibility – he thought he saw what looked like a row of heads bobbing in the water amid the hyacinths. Knowing that the Payoshni was infested with crocodiles, he was on the verge of dismissing the whole thing when he noticed the line begin moving toward the northern bank.

A moment later, as the rain unexpectedly let up, he saw the unmistakable movement of arms splashing in the water, as the figures began swimming.

Slipping out from under the tree, the soldier ran headlong toward the garrison. A few soldiers were standing guard outside the buildings, and as soon as he was within calling distance, the soldier began hollering to get their attention.

“Sound the alarm, sound the alarm,” he shouted frantically. “Some exiles are trying to escape from the forest.”

Even though this wasn’t a common occurrence at the garrison, within a couple of minutes, roughly fifty soldiers and a dozen cavalrymen had assembled and begun moving efficiently toward the river. As they crossed the Payoshni Pass and approached the river, the men drew their weapons and fanned out with drill-like precision.

On reaching the river crossing, however, the soldiers saw no sign of human activity – neither in the sluggish river, nor on either of its banks.

“Surrender immediately,” ordered one of the horsemen, a young commander. Scouring the area around, he added, “Resistance is useless. You are surrounded by the army of Heheya – there is nowhere to run. Show yourselves.”

Nothing happened.

The rain had now reduced to a steady drizzle. A few soldiers scouted the trees nearby, while some others, led by the commander, moved warily to the river’s edge and inspected the water and the docked boat. The commander then studied the opposite bank for a while before shaking his head.

“There’s nothing here. Where’s the soldier who raised the alarm?”

The commander’s horse suddenly whinnied and shifted skittishly, but no one paid it much attention. The sentry stepped forward.

“Are you sure you saw someone trying to cross the river?” asked the commander, twitching the reins to control his horse. “Or were you just hallucinating?”

“I saw some figures swimming in the river, sir. I’m quite certain.”

“Well, there’s no one here, soldier,” the commander made a broad sweep with his arm. “The only way anyone could have got out of here is by heading toward the garrison. We know that didn’t happen because we came that way.”

“Maybe they retreated back into the forest,” the soldier tried defending himself.

“Maybe...” chuckled another of the horsemen. “Or maybe you had too much firewater last night and the effects haven’t fully worn off.”

The soldiers had just begun sniggering at the remark and lowering their weapons when there was a loud, turbulent splash in the river, followed by a most hideous roar.

The next moment, a large, horned ogre rose out of the Payoshni, shaking the water plants off its black, hairy body. As the soldiers stood rooted to the ground in terror, the beast lunged at the commander and grabbed him by the shoulders, plucking him off his horse.

Then, in one single movement, it opened its large gaping mouth, bristling with sharp jagged teeth, and bit the commander’s head clean off his torso.

At the same instant, around thirty reptilian forms with horns on their heads, smaller in size to the ogre but more agile, leaped out of the muddy water with savage shrieks. Running, leaping and scampering on all fours, the smaller beasts attacked the stunned soldiers, slashing at them with long retractable talons and biting into their necks and shoulders with their teeth.

As the sense of self-preservation finally kicked in, some of Heheya’s soldiers took flight, while the braver ones drew their weapons to defend themselves. Those who stayed to put up a fight managed inflicting some injuries on the smaller beasts, but they quailed when the monster that had claimed their commander stepped ashore.

Over twelve feet in height, the ogre had the legs, body and head of a goat, the head crowned with a pair of large horns that arced backwards. But its big, muscular arms and face were humanoid – at least partially. The monster had an abominably large mouth, which opened wide by unhinging at the jaw and cheeks. A pair of small nostrils pointed to a nonexistent nose, above which were two dead eyes, devoid of irises. The two eyeballs, white and smooth as marble, stared unseeingly in front.

Yet, blindness seemed to pose no problems to the ramp-aging beast.

Because Andhaka, the rakshasa sent to Sindhuvarta by the asura lord Hiranyaksha, relied on a keen sense of smell, touch and hearing to inflict mayhem.

Spitting the crushed pulp of the commander’s head out of his mouth, Andhaka flung the body over his shoulder into the Payoshni. He then caught a couple of soldiers in his hands and squeezed hard, the soldiers’ bones cracking and imploding under pressure. One of the cavalrymen immediately charged at the ogre, only to have his head twisted and ripped out of his shoulders. And an archer, who shot two futile arrows at the rakshasa, was punished by being hurled against the side of a cliff, his head splitting open on impact.

The more courageous soldiers of the garrison battled hard, but they quickly began wilting under the brutal assault led by Andhaka. And the last of the fight went out of them when they saw a fresh horde of beasts issue out of the Dandaka Forest and throw themselves eagerly into the river.

The surviving soldiers scattered, running toward the garrison’s fortifications for cover, screaming at the top of their lungs for assistance. But Andhaka and his army of pishachas gave pursuit, leaving a trail of carnage that extended from the river crossing all the way inside the garrison of Payoshni.

***

The courtyard was filled with five hundred devas mounted on horseback, standing in five orderly columns. The afternoon sun glinted off their bronze armors and shields, while a light breeze ruffled the hackles on their helmets and flapped at the banner of Devaloka in the hands of one of them. The only sounds were the impatient clink of horse hooves on stone and an occasional murmur from the palace councilors who lined the galleries overlooking the courtyard.

At the head of the five columns were two devas astride their black mounts, both horses significantly larger in size than the beasts behind them. Unlike the rest of the devas in the courtyard, the two commanders were bareheaded – and judging from their straight golden hair, sharp noses and droopy eyes, it was plain that the two were twins.

The somber silence was broken by the hollow sound of a gong struck somewhere inside the palace. As the heavy peal rolled and crashed against the cliffs surrounding the palace, an official appeared at an empty balcony high above the courtyard.

“Indra, king of Devaloka, is here to grant an audience to the Brotherhood of the Ashvins,” he announced, before withdrawing.

A moment later, the towering figure of Indra stepped on to the balcony. He was followed by a lissome apsara of great beauty, tall and pleasantly endowed, her fair face in direct contrast to her vivacious black eyes and rich brown hair that fell seductively on her bare shoulders in great abundance.

As the apsara came and stood by his side, Indra leaned his huge hands on the stone parapet, and gazed down into the courtyard. Immediately, the two devas at the head of the cavalry columns dismounted and bowed their heads.

“The Brotherhood of the Ashvins awaits your permission to ride to Sindhuvarta, mighty king,” said one of the twins, raising his head.

“You have my permission, commanders,” Indra’s voice boomed across the courtyard. “Ride to Ujjayini and bring me Veeshada’s dagger.” He paused, then added with a scowl, “And remember... if there is even a shred of opposition, show no mercy. The human king doesn’t deserve any.”

Bowing once again, the twins mounted their horses. Then, donning their helmets, they turned around and rode out of the large gate at the far end of the courtyard. The rest of the cavalry followed, gathering speed as they rode away from the palace.

Indra watched the riders depart, a smile spreading over his broad, bearded face. “Fetch me some soma, my dear,” he said, addressing the apsara. “Let me drink to the success of the Brotherhood of the Ashvins.”

“As you wish, lord,” the apsara answered. She entered the room adjoining the balcony and returned shortly with a goblet brimming with the rich wine.

Indra gulped down half the contents of the goblet and let out a sigh of satisfaction. “Soon, the Halahala will be ours,” he said, beaming to himself. “For millennia I have waited for this day, this moment.”

“But lord, isn’t it too early to assume the Ashvins will succeed?” the apsara tilted her head saucily, her enigmatic eyes on Indra. “What makes you think the human king will give up without a fight?”

“My dear Urvashi, for his sake and the sake of his precious little kingdom, I hope he isn’t foolish enough to come in their way,” Indra replied, his voice bubbling with scorn. He paused as the roar of hoof beats rushing across the southern drawbridge filled the air, echoing from the abyss surrounding the palace.

“Do you hear that?” Indra asked, taking the apsara by the shoulder and drawing her close. “The dreaded Ashvin cavalry of Devaloka, led by the able Nasatya and Dasra. Those horse hooves can pound the soil of Avanti into infertile dust, and those riders can reduce the city of Ujjayini to rubble.”

“But it seems to me that the human king isn’t easily intimidated,” Urvashi fluttered her eyelids flirtatiously, her tone teasing. “Poor Narada literally had the palace door slammed on his face.”

The king of the devas threw his head back and emptied the goblet. Then, bringing his face close to Urvashi’s, he whispered softly in her ear. “If the human king tries to thwart me again, I promise to strike unspeakable fear in his heart.”

His hand dropped and went around the apsara’s slender waist, groping and squeezing her bare midriff in arousal. “He had the audacity to rebuff my offer of friendship – I will now make him feel the crushing might and fury of Indra’s enmity.”